


Fractured Skies

by officialmaknae



Series: All's Fair In Blood and War [2]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Horror, M/M, Manipulative Character, Murder-Suicide, Thriller, this is actually really messed up lol, this is really emo ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 22:26:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7333132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officialmaknae/pseuds/officialmaknae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zitao wakes up alone. He should have expected that, and he did, but it doesn't make it hurt any less. Now he's back in Hong Kong for the rest of the school year, and he's scared he won't see Yifan again, or even worse, he might come back to finish him off. After all, Yifan's a serial killer. Who says he's just not playing with his food before he eats it?</p><p> </p><p>"I can't trust you. I can't fucking trust you!"</p><p>"Then why didn't you kill me?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1/3

Everything hurt. _Everything._

His neck, his lips, his hips. Even his back, which was uncomfortably sort of skinned from being throttled against his living room floor repeatedly, and it made the train ride back to Hong Kong almost unbearable. Of course, don't get him wrong, he loved being reminded of _how_ he got those aches and pains, but then it left him with the bittersweet memory of waking up in bed, with a bandage on his neck and with his pajamas back on. He had gotten up to investigate, but even the glass he had thrown at Yifan was cleaned up. There wasn't a single trace that anything had gone on.

And Zitao wasn't sure why, but it filled him with a sense of abandonment. Yifan hadn't killed him. That was a miracle in itself - Zitao had seen the mutilated bodies that were shown on the news almost nightly, advertising how Yifan was an abomination. It was quite a scandal, too. Yifan had come from a rich family, the Wus, the family that owned most of the oil companies in China. He had a privileged life, filled with anything he could have wanted, but apparently it hadn't been enough.

So why _hadn't_ he killed him?

Was it a sick ploy to make Zitao trust him, to make him want to see him more? Then, would he come back and finish him off? What if this was his plan all along? What if this was how he played his other victims?

The train slowed to a stop, and the people all around him burst into life, impatiently pushing to try and get off as soon as possible. He couldn't blame them. The rain ride had been nearly twenty hours, and Zitao had barely made it on time to the station. He had spent so much time searching his apartment for signs of Yifan that he only nearly got on board before they pulled away.

He waited until the cabin was nearly empty before getting up and removing his belongings from the shelf above his head, which included three bags: a hefty backpack, a roll-along suitcase, and a messenger bag full of his school books. Everything was almost bulging with all of the stuff packed inside of it, and Zitao was grateful that his college was only a few blocks over from the station. He was not, however, grateful for the frigid temperature. The fact that it was nearly four AM didn't help at all.

He scurried along the three blocks between his current location to his normal apartment - much closer to his college than the one his parents had let him use in Qingdoa, and much shittier. Yet, he felt a sense of home at the sight, and he happily put his bags by the door and didn't hesitate to sink into his bed.

 

 

He awoke only a few short hours later to incredibly annoying knocking on his door. Bleary-eyed and still half-drunk with sleep, he opened up, squinting against the light of the dimly lit hallway that always seemed to smell of piss and some kind of cheap cologne.

"Tao!" A voice said, and the door was knocked back, a warm body crushing him into a hug. "Glad to see you back!"

Zitao tried to gain focus of the person when the pulled away and he blinked.

"Luhan, what the fuck? Do you know what time it is?" He asked, more irritated than he should be.

"Yeah, it's nine in the morning. _Ooh_ , what happened to your neck? That looks pretty nasty." The graceful boy replied, reaching forward to place his fingers against the purple and red bruises on Zitao's neck. The bandages had come off while he slept. "Are those _teeth_ marks?"

"What?" Zitao asked, pulling away from him. "Oh, no, it's nothing." Nonetheless, he placed his own hand over the large wound, trying to cover it nonchalantly, but Yifan's mouth had inflicted an array of marks incapable of being completely covered by something such as that. "Why are you here?"

Luhan eyed his action apprehensively, but smiled up at him anyway. "I heard your train came back in last night and I wanted to come see you, and I was wondering if maybe you'd join me and the boys on a night out tonight. You know, since nearly everyone was gone for New Year's. Like a belated celebration."

"Why didn't you go home for the holidays, Luhan?" He asked.

The shorter boy's eyes suddenly flickered and he swallowed. "I-I didn't want to."

"What? That's ridiculous, Lu. You go home any chance you get. You love your family." Zitao said, smiling.

"Yeah," Luhan said quietly. "But you'll come out tonight, right? You will, won't you?"

His eyes were wide and trusting and Zitao could feel himself getting reeled in by someone who was two years his senior, but looked two years his junior.

"Yeah," he told him. "Of course."

Luhan immediately brightened, giving a dazzling smile and wrapping his arms around the taller once again.

"Thank you thank you thank you!" He gushed, even leaning up and pressing his soft lips against Zitao's cheek, making him cringe.

"Ew, Luhan, stop!" Zitao said, awkwardly trying to get out of his reach. "You're going to get lipstick on me!"

Luhan dropped his arms and narrowed his eyes at him. "Very funny. I'll see you later."

"Okay," Zitao said, following him to close the door behind him. "Bye."

"Bye, Tao!"

Zitao closed the door, sighing and rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wake up more. He could just go back to sleep and be up in time for the group outing, but he might as well try and correct his sleep schedule as much as he could before the semester started back. He had enough trouble getting up for classes enough as it was.

He trudged back to his room, grabbing up his phone and dialing. She picked up after the third ring, like Zitao knew she would.

" _Hello?_ "

"Hey, Mom," he smiled into the receiver.

" _Tao! Hi, sweetie! How are you? Did you make it back to Hong Kong all right?_ " She rushed out, and a maternal warmth settled over him. For some reason, he felt tears prickle at his eyes.

"Yeah, I got back this morning around four. I wouldn't be up but Lu came by my apartment and woke me," he replied.

" _Oh, Little Luhan, how is he?_ " Her voice clouded with concern.

"He's good, Mom. He's good."

" _That's good. I mean, after what happened to his parents, I'm surprised he's not a wreck._ " She said on the other line, gentleness enveloping every word.

"Wha - After what happened to his parents? Mom, what are you talking about?" Zitao asked, his eyes squinting.

" _He didn't tell you? Well, he shouldn't have had to. Don't you watch the news?_ "

"Of course I do, but all that's ever on anymore is that serial killer, Wu Yifan," he said, and Yifan's name came out heavy like lead.

" _Sweetie, I know,  and that's what I'm talking about. They were murdered last week._ "

 _"_ Fuck," he muttered, lowly so his mother wouldn't hear the vile word coming from her son's lips. "Mom, I-I've got to go. I'll call you later, okay?"

" _What? Okay, sweetheart. I -_ "

But Zitao didn't hear what she was going to say, because he had already ended the call and rushed toward the bathroom to vomit up the contents of his stomach. It was mainly acid, and it burned up his throat like fire, causing him to cough and sputter. He spit away the taste of sick, feeling the horrid bubbling in his gut be replaced by anger. He flushed away the rancid remains then stood up and looked at himself in the mirror. He had gone very pale and the circles under his eyes had been exaggerated, matching the colors on his neck. He was shaking from fury. With an almighty yell, he launched his fist into his mirror, shards of glass falling into the sink and piercing into his hand. He pulled his fist back, examining the damage and feeling the anger ebb away. His self-inflicted injury throbbed a bit, blood starting to fill the shallow cuts.

The reality of the situation hit him fully and his now fractured reflection in the mirror made him feel sick all over again. 

Yifan had murdered Luhan's parents and he didn't even know. Yifan had murdered Luhan's parents and Zitao had _asked_ why Luhan didn't visit them over the holidays. What kind of person was he? Luhan was one of his best friends and he hadn't been there for him, hadn't comforted him, hadn't said anything about it to him.

He felt angry at himself. He felt angry for being such a shit friend and for letting Yifan fuck him. Who lets a murderer fuck them anyway? After he had broken into his home with the intent to kill him? Hell, even _attempted_ to kill him.

_But he didn't._

Zitao let out another angry yell, leaning against the wall behind him and sinking to the floor. He gripped at his hair, desperately shaking at his head to try and figure something out, but the pieces of his thoughts didn't fit together. They were broken and ragged like the shards of glass of his mirror.

He frantically sought for a clear thought, but he only found dizziness.

 

The city life buzzed in front of the small crowd of boys standing on the sidewalk. The sun was slipping into the ground, turning the sky a dark violet striped with ever so faint pink. Zitao's feet shuffled nervously on the pavements, snow crunching underneath.

"So what are we doing?" He asked, pulling his scarf tighter up around his neck. His hand twinged from the action and he plastered a smile on his face to disguise it. His injury wasn't terrible, but it had caused him discomfort enough that he had made a trip to the emergency room, where the glass was plucked out and he was given pain pills - which he wasn't using. The service had come from a nurse that kept eyeing his vast range of hickeys, to the point where Zitao glared back at her and she looked away,

"There's a new bar open down the block. Do you want to try it?" Luhan asked, and the other boys, Minseok, Jongin, and Yixing, all shrugged in indifference. 

"Guess that's a yes," Zitao said. "Lead the way."

The bar, it turned out, was actually rather nice, with good drinks and good prices, not to mention the crammed state of it with more than enough promising one-night stands. However, despite all of this, Zitao found himself sat down in one of the booths, frowning into his drink. His earlier mood hadn't left him and two hours into the escapade, he was getting a headache from hearing the same remix over and over again.

He left his drink on the table, grabbing up his jacket and pushing his way into the dance crowd to find one of the boys. He managed to find Yixing and he pulled him close momentarily to practically yell something about going outside and getting air before the swarm of people sucked him back in.

The quiet outside was soothing and the cold was refreshing compared to the loud and sweaty atmosphere of the bar. What kind of a bar had such an active dance life, anyway?

The door beside him swung open and Luhan came out, giving him a smile and zipping his jacket up.

"Bit loud in there," he said, breathing on his hands to warm them up.

"Yeah," Zitao agreed nonchalantly.

"Tao, are you okay?" He asked, concern crossing his face. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but you've been quiet all night. You don't seem yourself."

Zitao didn't look at him. He swallowed.

"Lu, why didn't you tell me? Why did you let me make a complete ass of myself?"

Luhan suddenly found the snow-covered sidewalk very interesting. "I didn't know how."

"I'm sorry," Zitao sputtered. "I'm sorry I'm such a shit person, Lu. I wasn't there for you. I should have been there for you."

"It's okay," Luhan said quietly. "You didn't know."

"But that's the thing, isn't it?" He said dryly. "I should have known! I should have fucking known! I can't stand myself for this, Lu. I can't bear it."

"Tao, really. It's fine."

"No, it's not. I can't apologize enough."

" _Stop apologizing, Tao_."

"I can't. You shouldn't even forgive me, Lu - "

"Shut up."

Luhan's voice was so hard and cold that it made Zitao look up at him. Luhan's usual gentle eyes were steel, pooling with tears.

"Quit making this about you," he said harshly. "You don't know what I'm going through. You have absolutely _no fucking idea_ what I'm going through, but yet, here you are, making this about you. This _isn't_ about you, for once, Tao! Why can't you just shut up? Why can't you see how much pain I'm in?"

Zitao swallowed, not sure what to say.

Then Luhan's eyes fluttered shut and his face crumpled. Tears cascaded down his cheeks.

"I miss them so much."

He rushed forward and pulled Luhan into his arms, feeling the boy shake as he began to sob.

"It's going to be okay, Lu," he told him softly. "I'm here."

His head was whirling and the lucid thought he was searching for earlier hit him like a truck.

He needed to find Yifan.

 

Everything became centered around Yifan. Zitao become sort of obsessed with finding him. He watched the news religiously, desperately trying to form some sort of pattern of the killings, trying to predict where he was going to hit next, but he couldn't. Maps were strewn across the living room, trails of red left from his felt marker to show where he had circled areas, crossed out others. It seemed Yifan didn't like to take his in areas that weren't heavily crowded, which made sense. The less people there were, the more likely someone was going to noticed a scream for help. Busy cities was where he liked to take them, places like Beijing and Shanghai. Places like Hong Kong.

Zitao sat back, rubbing his face. It was only a matter of time before he took someone from here.  _But why hadn't he done it yet?_

" _...body found in a gas station restroom on the outskirts of Hong Kong..._ "

Zitao looked up at the television so fast it hurt his neck, scrambling for the remote to turn up the volume. Red banners were all across the screen, all bearing the same words:  _Breaking News_.

" _It has not yet been identified, but the victim was wearing a hoodie from The Chinese University of Hong Kong. The cause of death was determined to be an autopsy performed while the victim was still alive. All organs inside of him were removed and flushed down the toilet. Time of death has not been confirmed, but we can assume it was less than four hours ago._ "

Yifan's face flashed on the screen, the blame once again going on him. Of course, it should, as Yifan always removed at least one organ from his victims. He had been trained in medicine in his late teens, aiming for a doctrate degree in medicine. He excelled, and became the top student. Only someone skilled with ways to open the body without making a terrible mess would be able to do this in a bathroom. It had to be Yifan.

On the other hand, the victim attended Zitao's college. Yifan had taken someone Zitao knew. It felt invasive, like when he had taken Luhan's parents. He knew he had to move now or he would lose him.

 

A short drive later, Zitao got out of his car and let himself be lost in the darkness of the slums of Hong Kong. It housed everything - druggies, prostitutes, murderers. Someone here had to know where Yifan was.

"Excuse me," he muttered in apology as he brushed past a man shorter than he was. A mean glint was reflected in response.

He made his way down a dark alley before it opened up into a vast neighborhood. Some houses - shacks, more like - were alongside the road, but most people were surrounded by fires that were everywhere. Tents and makeshift shelter areas were more common than not in this area.

Zitao pulled the hood of his jacket up to cover his face, attempting to not piss anyone off. What he needed was to find someone that was in charge, someone that knew everyone that was staying here.

He made his way toward a fire, sticking out his hands as if to warm them. He nodded at the band of misfits enclosing it, then, very casually, he spoke to the woman on his right.

"Who you gotta see to get a place to stay around here?" He asked, not meeting her eyes.

"Oh, you don't want to stay here, boy. You're much too young; you'll be eaten alive," she told him kindly. Zitao felt his gut twist at the horrid state of her rotten teeth.

"I'm tougher than I look," he replied roughly.

"Go see Thin; he's up at the big tent at the end. He calls the shots around here," she said. Then she added, "And don't try to bargain with him. Be grateful you have a place to sleep."

He nodded, thanking her and bowing out of the group.

The large tent at the end had no crowds around it. There was a flickering light cast against the fabric walls and Zitao could see someone moving around inside of it. He approached, pushing aside the makeshift door.

A man was sat at a table, pouring over lists. His face was gaunt, sallow eyes poking out of his skull. He looked up at Zitao, giving him the once over before stifling a laugh and chuckling out, "What can I do for you, young sir?" in a mocking tone.

"I'm looking for someone," Zitao stated. "I wondered if he was here."

"Name him, son," Thin said. "Got everyone's name right here."

"Wu Yifan."

Thin looked up at him sharply. Everything seemed to go still and cold. "Not even us house people like him. He's an abomination. You should not be looking for him, boy."

"Please," Zitao said, his face falling. "I need to find him. It's important."

"Did you not hear me? He's not here." Thin's voice was losing patience and his eyes were growing colder with each passing second. "I suggest you leave, little rich boy. You don't belong here any more than the Queen of England."

He gave Thin one last, pleading look, but it didn't work.

"Leave."

"But - " Zitao stuttered, and Thin rose from his seat. He pushed Zitao towards the door and the latter dug his heels into the ground to try and keep from moving.

" _Now_." He said, and with a final shove, Zitao was removed from his tent.

Zitao ground his teeth, irritation and hopelessness creeping up on him. He began to walk back through the camp, determination in his step, until someone called after him.

"Hey! Wait!"

He stopped, turning and seeing an older man missing many teeth chasing him. When he reached him, he held out his hand, passing Zitao a piece of paper with an address scrawled onto it.

"What is this?" Zitao questioned, his eyebrows furrowed.

"You're Zitao, right?" The man asked.

"Yes," he responded, nodding his head.

"It's an address," said the elder, motioning to the scrap of paper he had handed to the boy.

"Yes, I know, but what for?" He pressed further.

The old man had a glint in his kind eyes. "You're looking for Him aren't you?"

"Him?"

" _Yifan_ ," he whispered. "He told me you might come looking for him and to give this to you."

Zitao looked blankly down at the address; it was for a hotel right across from the bar he had been at only a few nights before. He swallowed and looked up at the man. He felt a sudden rush in his chest as his heart rate went through the roof; this was the big break he had been looking for. He was finally going to find him, after days of no sleep and endless hours on the Internet looking at hopeless leads.

"Go," the man said. "I'm sure you know Yifan isn't too keen on waiting longer than he absolutely has to."

"Thank you," Zitao told him. "Really, this means a lot."

The man raised his hand in a sincere farewell as Zitao turned on his heel and raced back to where he had parked, his heart thumping furiously in his rib cage. He kept bumping into people, but unlike when he had first come through, he didn't bother to apologize. When he got back to his car, he slid into the driver's seat and turned the engine over, taking off without even fastening his seatbelt.

 

He stared at the door in front of him, tracing the peeling numbers with his eyes as if he wasn't sure if this was the place or not. He knew better. This was the exact room the paper said. Room four. Which was weird, and somehow fitting. The number four signifies bad luck and misfortune in many countries of Asia, which lead to this room number often being omitted. It was like an omen, warning Zitao that he shouldn't do this, that he should just turn around, get back in his car, and go back to his apartment. But he couldn't do that. He _wouldn't_ do that. He was here because -

Why? Was it because he wanted to se him again? Did Zitao honestly miss this abomination of a person?

A shiver ran through his spine as he felt the memory of plush lips against his neck, the scrape of teeth, and the soft yet firm murmuring of " _my little whore_."

He shook his head. _No_. He was here for Luhan. He was here because he couldn't stand what he had done to him - _no one_ should feel the way Luhan did. But a stray thought popped in his head that told him otherwise. It was Yifan's little concern for human life that attracted him in the first place. Yifan was a man of no limits, a man where no was not an option. That thrilled and put Zitao off at the same time.

He raised his fist, knocking his knuckles against the hard wood sharply three times. The was the slow, dull sound of movement on the other side, the sound of a chain being undone. Had he locked himself in? Of course he had; it was Yifan, incredibly smart and handsome Yifan.

The door opened a crack and Zitao leaned to try and see inside before a fraction of a face peeked out.

Zitao had only seen him in person once before, a week ago, but he thought that surely he couldn't ever get used to being in the presence of something so heavenly. Even though he wasn't a religious man, he was sure Yifan had to be an angel, a genuine creation of God himself, brought to life purely to torture those who could not have him. Yet he was the fires of Hell, Satan reincarnate, sent to leave death and destruction in his wake. He was an enigma of morality.

"Zitao," he said, and his ethereal eyes shone in satisfaction. "Back for more?"

"No," Zitao spat back. "I'm here to talk to you."

"It's a bit late for talking, isn't it? What is it? Two AM?"

"Something like that," he said off-handedly. "Look, just let me in."

"Sure," he told him, and the door widened a bit more. 

He strode in, taking in the place. It reeked of pure alcohol - the kind that disinfected, not the kind to ingest - and there was a set of medical tools on the coffee table laid out on white linen. There was a twist in Zitao's gut as he realized that these were the tools most likely used to perform the muders Yifan had committed thus far. He wobbled on his feet.

"Didn't take you for someone with a weak stomach," Yifan commented, sitting on the couch by the coffee table and continuing to clean his tools with a damp rag, which Zitao assumed was the source of the burning smell. "Sit."

Zitao took a seat on the far end of the couch, the farthest sitting position from Yifan he could see, and they sat in silence.

After a while, Zitao asked, "Are those the utensils you used to kill the guy at the gas station?"

Yifan's lips quirked at the edges, as if he was holding back a smile. "Yes."

"He went to my college," he blurted, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Just felt a bit too close to home."

"Mmm," Yifan said in acknowledgement. "Sorry."

"You know, my friend, Luhan, he's upset these days," Zitao started, steadoly feeling sicker and sicker with each word. What was he going to do? Fight Yifan? Kill him? Ask him to stop?

"Oh yeah?" Yifan questioned. "Why's that?"

"His parents were murdered. He's quite mad with grief."

Yifan's movements stopped, realizing where this was going. He made a face that you would wear when explaining something to a child.

"Zitao..."

"No, don't. You know, I should have just called the cops and told them where you were. It would mean the world to Luhan for you to be caught, did you know that?" His voice was shaking now, somewhere between rage and revelation. "All those people you've killed, Yifan, _all those people_ , yet you spared me. Why? Why did you spare me? You had your hand around my throat, you were ready, but you didn't kill me. Is it because you're just fucking with me?"

Yifan wouldn't look him in the eyes. He kept his gaze on the perfectly clean scalpel in his hand.

"Or were you scared?" He provoked, the sound barely more than a whisper, filled with absolute hate.

Yifan stood, pulling Zitao to his feet and fastening his hand around his neck. He shoved him into the wall, the blow making Zitao's head spin, and pressing the blade directly over his heart.

"Say I won't," he hissed, his eyes insane. "Say I won't kill you here and now."

"You won't," he said. "You can act like you will, but we both know you won't kill me."

Yifan's eyes narrowed, becoming animalistic, but instead of tightening his grip, he released him, dropping the blade on the floor.

"Leave." He spat, grabbing Zitao by his shoulders and pushing him towards the door. His feet tangled and the black-haired male stumbled, leaning onto the door for balance.

"I just want answers. You can't treat me like this without giving me answers!" He said.

Yifan clenched his fists, his jaw set in a firm line.

"Why won't you tell me anything?" He asked. "Why are you leaving me in the dark?"

"I can't trust you!" He burst out. " _I can't fucking trust you!_ "

"Then why didn't you kill me? Why don't you kill me, Yifan?"

He still didn't answer. Zitao took a tentative step towards him, and when he didn't make any move to attack him, he took another, and another, until he could reach out and place his hands over the man's strained fists, easing them into a relaxed position.

"Tell me," he said softly.

"I can't," Yifan swallowed, refusing to meet Zitao's eyes. "I just can't, Zitao."

"Why?"

Yifan's fingers slipped between Zitao's.

"Because you're too invested in this, in us, when there isn't an _us_ to begin with."

Zitao's gentle facial expression faltered. "I - What?"

Yifan pulled his hands away, a look of disgust on hist face. "Your friend, Luhan? I killed his parents. You're his friend, Zitao. You're supposed to want to kill me after that, but instead, you're doing the complete opposite. I wasn't actually hoping you personally wouldn't come here, because I knew this is exactly what would happen. I was anticipating you would have called the police, like a rational person, but you didn't. You're here trying to gain my trust - _my_ trust, a _killer's_ trust. Do you know how fucked in the head you have to be for that?"

Zitao felt like he had swallowed ice.

"Be _scared_ of me, Zitao."

"I am scared," he said. "Just not of you."

"Why did really come here?" He asked, his voice low. "Honestly."

Zitao looked up at the tall man's hooded eyes, the rich, dark color of them making him dizzy.

"I wanted you to fix things. I wanted you to make things better, but you're just fucking with my head! Everything is broken now, Yifan! Everything! You fucked everything up for me! I can't admire anything anymore, for fuck's sake, even when I look at the sky, it's all fractured, and broken into bits!"

Yifan stayed quiet, calculating.

"I'm not God. I can't make everything better."

"Yeah, I figured you'd say something like that." Zitao sounded frustrated, and he was rifling his hands through his hair and making it stand up at weird angles.

"But I'm going to try," he finished. "I don't want you to be in pain."

Zitao looked up at him; his hands were on either side of his waist, trailing down to his ass. "Yifan, you shouldn't..." 

His lips grazed over Zitao's, and Zitao's eyes fluttered closed, his pulse quickening at the close contact.

"Shh," Yifan quieted him, wrapping his large hands around Zitao's wrists as if they were handcuffs and pulling him into his bedroom. "Let me fix you, Zitao."

He laid Zitao gently on the bed, kissing him with caution. It was so different than the last time, when their lips met in so much fury that there were bruises and blood, and deep down, Zitao wanted that, but this was nice, too. It almost felt like Yifan was an actual person, and not some sort of brainless machine, driven by bloodlust.

Yifan rolled his hips against Zitao's, making the smaller boy squint his eyes and push up his lower body to get more, but Yifan's mouth was then trailing along his jaw, his teeth pulling down the skin, but not giving any sign that he was going to bite. He pulled up Zitao's shirt, removing it, and his lips continued their crusade down his chest, leaving a small trail of saliva in the midst of his butterfly kisses. He reached the line of his jeans, and unbuckled them, pulling them down and off, taking the liberty of removing his shoes and socks as well. Even though there had been little foreplay thus far, Zitao's face was already flushed, his lips already swollen from kissing, and his shaft more than half-hard. He couldn't help it. Yifan was so _right_ for him.

Yifan parted Zitao's legs, sucking along the insides of his thighs and leaving red marks. Zitao felt some sort of giddyness rise up inside at the realization that at least he would have _some_ bruises from Yifan's softer side. After each mark, he would trace the circumference of it with his tongue, lap at it, then bite at it with his teeth. Soon, there were innumerable amounts of the small contusions all over Zitao's milky thighs, and each one made him a little harder.

He thought Yifan would never quit, but then he was removing his underwear, and Zitao's dick - large, but inadequate compared to Yifan's - sprung up, red and leaking with precum. Yifan's tongue slid up the bottom of it, taking it into his mouth and beginning a suction. Zitao squirmed, his mouth agape now, rasps of his unsteady breathing coming in harsh intervals. His hips bucked slightly in the time of which Yifan bobbed his head, his mouth performing an act of God. His tongue circled around the head, swirling around his shaft as the weak thrusts started to become uneven. He pulled away, making Zitao whine in displeasure.

Yifan's finger probed at Zitao's backside, already wet with some type of warmth. He must have sucked on it, but Zitao didn't notice, he was still mourning over the loss of heat around his neglected member. But then Yifan's finger broke through the muscle barrier and Zitao bit his lip at the sensation, trying to keep quiet as Yifan immediately found the egg-shaped mass inside of him, rubbing against it and sending unparalleled satisfaction to the sensors in his brain. Warmth was quickly pooling in his knees, in his abdomen, in his head, and he felt like molten lava. His body had gone completely limp, and when Yifan added a second finger, he let out a guttural moan.

Yifan withdrew the digits, and the emptiness hit Zitao again. He was pulled up as Yifan stripped, watching him in a haze. Then Yifan laid down where he had been, pulling Zitao's leg's around him, making him straddle him. He aligned their bodies, positioning the enlarged head of his cock at the comfortably-stretched entrance, then placing one of his hands on Zitao's hips and pushing him down. He watched Zitao's body swallow every inch of him, his face a mask of euphoria, then putting his other hand on Zitao's waist. Zitao took it from there, resting his hands on Yifan's chest and beginning to rut himself against him again and again. Yifan watched his face, watched how his mouth had gone slack and how his eyes clenched shut in complete concentration. He was desperate to get off.

The movements between them were rapidly becoming rougher, what started out as a gentle and loving healing process turning into a full-out fuck fest. Zitao's body moved like a machine, staying at his quick pace, moaning and his nails leaving an indent in Yifan's chest. Yifan wasn't complaining; his knuckles had gone white at Zitao's hips.

" _Yifan_ ," he mewled, vulnerable in this state.

"That's it, baby," Yifan coaxed, approval lacing his words. "Fuck yourself on my cock."

Zitao sat up, his hands sliding down to Yifan's abdomen so he could straighten. The new angle caused the head of Yifan's dick to come into contact with Zitao's prostate every time he lowered himself back down. He gasped, knowing he wasn't going to last much longer.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!" He cried, the rhythm becoming shallow and choppy as he spurted on both of their stomachs.

Yifan could feel the already almost-painfully tight heat around him contracting, Zitao's walls choking him. He raised up, his head tilted back as he gripped even tighter on Zitao's hips, his bits of nail digging into his soft flesh. He coated Zitao's inner canal with his semen, making Zitao feel sloshy and full, like he had just eaten a large bowl of hot soup.

He was gasping, and he rolled off of Yifan to land at his side. He looked to Yifan, surprised to see that his face was flushed, but other than that, there was no sign he had just had sex. His breathing was already back to normal, his eyes gone back to their normal gaze. Zitao made a face and he reached out to brush a bit of Yifan's hair back from his eyes.

"Are you alright?" He asked him.

"Me? Yeah," he said, looking over at Zitao.

He reached out and pulled Zitao to him, and Zitao put his head in the curve of his long neck. His graceful fingers traced patters down his bare back as his other hand curved around to hold him protectively at his shoulder. Zitao felt content, like _this_ should have been how it went afterwards their first time. But that was ridiculous. They barely knew each other then.

 _You barely know each other now,_  a voice bit back at him.

"I meant what I said, Zitao," Yifan murmured to him. "I'm going to fix everything for you."

He placed a kiss on his dark, silky hair.

"I promise."


	2. 2/3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is description of murder here! Please heed this warning in case gore makes you sick!

Zitao watched Yifan as he slept. He knew it was weird, but he found himself captivated by the soft, almost-silent breathing that came from him, felt the air leave his lungs as his chest fell to only rise again, making Zitao's view of him go up and down from his spot on his torso.

He looked at peace when he was asleep. There was no hatred masked in the lines of his face, no trickery in his actions. It took years off of him and he looked his age for once. He looked normal, but also like a young child in a way.

 

The warmth of his arm around Zitao, resting on his lower back, made him feel secure, made him feel safe. Like no one could hurt him ever again. And Zitao knew that, really. He had faith in Yifan that he would never let anything happen to him.

 

Yifan had told him that he would take care of everything, and Zitao wasn't sure whether it was good or not that he relied heavily on that fact to make him feel better. He should feel absolutely awful, and he was fighting a part of him that wanted to get up and leave, but he didn't want to compromise the warm, fluffy feeling he had now. Everything else could wait; Yifan was going to fix it.

 

But what was Yifan going to do? Zitao knew he shouldn't have spilled his guts like that. He should've broke it off then, called the police, anything but slept with him. Again.

 

 _There's the awful feeling I was looking for_ , he thought.

 

This was the man that killed Luhan's parents. This was wrong. This was so, so wrong.

 

But for the moment, Zitao decided to ignore his moral crisis, choosing to bury his face in Yifan's neck instead, inhaling his scent as the male's arms wrapped tighter around him in his slumber.

 

Zitao's phone started ringing sometime past nine, making him sit up so quickly that Yifan stirred, noises of disapproval coming from his chest.

 

He scrambled from the welcoming bed, feeling around in his discarded jeans for the device, then sliding his finger across the screen to answer.

 

"Hello?" He whispered, his back towards Yifan's half-awake form.

 

"Tao? Where are you?" Luhan's voice said from the other line.

 

"I, uh," he stammered. "I went out. Sorry - I'll be back home soon."

 

He felt like he should be apologizing over and over. He was a bad friend. He was a bad person. Luhan shouldn't have to put up with someone like him. If Zitao had any kind of sense, he would have cut things off with Yifan. He should hate Yifan. He should - he should -

 

"Oh," Luhan said, sounding a bit hurt. "I was just wondering if you wanted to go grab breakfast or something."

 

"Oh, okay," Zitao managed. "Yeah, that's fine. Where do you want to meet?"

 

He was hurrying around the room, pulling on his clothes. His phone was propped between his shoulder and his cheek, making his words come out slightly slurred and barely understandable.

 

"I can just come pick you up. Is that okay?"

 

"Yeah, okay," he replied. "Give me like fifteen minutes."

 

"Okay, see you," Luhan said.

 

Zitao hung up and put the phone back in his pocket. He crawled onto to the bed and straddled Yifan, leaning down and planting kisses all over his face. Yifan made a small noise of complaint from being woken up again, but it soon turned into a sigh of contentment.

 

"Where are you going?" He asked in a sleepy voice.

 

"Home," Zitao replied. "I'm going to have breakfast with Luhan."

 

"Okay," he nodded, his eyes still drooping down again.

 

Zitao pressed a kiss to his drowsy lips and he felt Yifan make an attempt to reciprocate the movement, but he was too asleep.

 

"Bye," Yifan breathed when he pulled away, reaching up and caressing one of Zitao's cheeks slowly.

 

"Bye," he smiled, lifting up off of him.

 

 

He made it home in time a few spare minutes before Luhan knocked at his door. Zitao's stomach was a congested interstate of nerves that flared up every time he came into contact with anyone other than Yifan. He feared that someone would know, someone would find out, and that he would be shunned by his friends. How would they react? Would they call the police? Of course they would, what a stupid question, but could he go to jail for this? Didn't this count as helping a murderer?

 

Zitao pulled the door open and Luhan flashed him a bright smile.

 

"Hey," he said, twirling his brightly-colored lanyard around in his hand. "Are you ready?"

 

"Yeah," Zitao nodded, nausea building up in his throat as he couldn't bring himself to look Luhan in the eyes. "Let's go."

 

While they walked to Luhan's car, he chattered about what had been happened the past few days. Zitao hadn't really gotten out as much as he normally did, seeing as he became rather obsessed with finding Yifan. He told him about how he and Jongin had gone out to lunch yesterday and that they both tried curry for the first time, that Minseok's parents sent in sweets as late Christmas presents and that Mrs. Kim's cookies were still to die for, that Yixing lost the key to his apartment so he can't go anywhere without the fear of being robbed as he can no longer leave the house without leaving his door unlocked.

 

Zitao was grateful for this side of Luhan; all he had to do was put in a well-timed nod of the head of an off-hand comment and he would continue talking. Luhan's buoyancy in this situation never ceased to surprise him. He'd lost his parents, but he was talking about different types of coffee creamers like it was a normal day. But was that a bad thing?

 

They took a booth in the back of the diner. It was almost empty; they had caught it at the awkward time between the people that liked breakfast early and those that decided to skip it and wait until lunch. They ordered drinks - Zitao took warm tea as he didn't like coffee, Luhan went with milk - and then Luhan seemed to notice Zitao's dark demeanor.

 

"Tao, are you okay?" He asked, eyeing Zitao's fist on the table. It was flexing and relaxing at what seemed to be timed intervals. He reached out and placed a warm hand on top of it, causing Zitao to flinch.

 

"Lu," he said. "I have to tell you something."

 

Keep your mouth shut, his head told him. You'll only make it worse.

 

Luhan nodded, his eyes immediately switching from child-like animation to seriousness.

 

"I know where Yifan is."

 

The words hung in the air like an activated bomb waiting to go off. Luhan's eyes fluttered for a moment, his eyebrows raising. His mouth crinkled into a smile.

 

"You what?" He asked, laughing softly.

 

"No, Lu, listen to me," he said gravely, grasping the hand that was over his by the wrist. He felt tears welling in his eyes. "Yifan, the serial killer that murdered your parents, I know where he is. I - I was at his apartment this morning. We're friends, Lu. We're more than friends. I've slept with him. Twice."

 

"Oh," Luhan said, swallowing. "That's nice."

 

"Nice? No, Lu, it's not nice. It's awful. It's an awful situation, I'm an awful person, and I am awful for putting you in this position but it's eating me alive to be here for you when I'm fucking you over. You need to hate me. Please, hate me." Zitao's voice was low but urgent, trying to not get the attention of the waitresses working and passing by them occasionally. "Tell me to not talk to you again. Tell me you're going to call the police."

 

Luhan's hand withdrew from the top of the table and Zitao's palm felt empty at the rejection. Luhan gave a small, hurt smile.

 

"Tao, do you really think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?" He asked, reaching for his milk.

 

The waitress chose that moment to appear to take their food orders. Zitao couldn't remember what he ordered, but he did remember Luhan not looking at him directly for the rest of the meal.

 

 

He didn't speak much until they stopped outside of Zitao's apartment complex. He looked down at the steering wheel, seeming like he was going to vomit.

 

"Tao... You love me, right?" He asked, his eyes squinted as if he were trying to understand.

 

"Of course I do," Zitao said, turning in his seat. He was desperate for Luhan to say something, to let him know that what he'd done wasn't entirely unforgivable, because he knew what Luhan had said before - about Zitao betraying him - wasn't the truth. It was just a defense mechanism.

 

"Will you tell me where Yifan is?" Luhan questioned quietly.

 

Zitao's first instinct was to scream No! You'll call the police!, but isn't that exactly what he'd told him to do? He couldn't get angry when he had told Luhan this was how he was supposed to react. He chose to ask why instead, There was nothing wrong with that, right?

 

Luhan swallowed; Zitao watched the small protruding knot in his throat move with the action. "Just tell me."

 

So Zitao did.

 

 

Luhan hadn't talked to him in three days. No calls, no texts, nothing. Why hadn't he talked to him? Zitao had told him what he wanted. He'd chosen him over Yifan. What more could he want? How much time did he need to heal over the fact Zitao had slept with the person that brutally murdered his parents? How much longer would it take him to get over it?

 

Shut up, Zitao. He told himself. You're not being fair.

 

He'd been attached to the television almost constantly. He was looking for two things: the breaking news of Yifan finally being caught or another body. He felt - with a sickening lurch - that the next body to be found would be Luhan's, but would Yifan hurt someone he knew Zitao cared for? Was he that kind of person?

 

He decided that this wasn't how he should be spending his time. He needed to do something productive. Grabbing his school bags, he left the apartment and headed for the nearest coffee shop.

 

 

Zitao stood in line waiting to receive his coffee, his fingers pulling at the long sleeves of his shirt to cover his hands, but they were shaking too much to do so. They hadn't stopped shaking since he left his apartment. His laptop bag and the bag full of his school books were strewn across a booth at the back; he'd been trying to get ahead of his school work for about an hour now, but he felt drained. His mind was numb and he every time he attempted to write a sentence on quantum physics, all he could see was the curve of Yifan's mouth, the shape of his eyes - and he would have to shake his head until it hurt.

 

Just then, the barista called his name and he wrapped his hand around his coffee, trying to secrete the warmth from it and transfer it into his own body. He wished Yifan would go ahead and "fix" things, like he said he was. Zitao wasn't sure what the phrase meant when he had said it, but he trusted him enough to think that he was going to make everything better. He had to. He didn't know what else to believe.

 

Maybe he should tip the police off. He knew where Yifan was. But did he really want to do that? Did he really want Yifan to go to prison? It wasn't the fact that he didn't think Yifan could survive prison - Yifan was more than tough enough to - but he didn't want him to be there period. Yifan was something he didn't want to have to be without, even though he had lived every bit of his life without him until a week ago. Yifan was ruining everything. Who was he to think he could just come into Zitao's life and start fucking everything up? Who gave him the right?

 

Maybe he should wait until the police caught him. He would go to jail in that proposition as well, but who even said he would make it to jail? Would they execute him? They should; everyone had seen the atrocities he had committed on the innocent, and why? What did Yifan gain from that? It should make Zitao sick to his stomach, refuse to even touch him, be in the same room as him, reject anything that had to do with him, but he couldn't. Why couldn't he?

 

But another question bugged him even further: why hadn't he been caught yet? Why hadn't Luhan turned him in? If Zitao's own parents had been murdered and he knew where the person who did it was, he wouldn't hesitate to rat them out. What was Luhan doing? Zitao gave him the information he wanted, but he wasn't sure if Luhan had done anything with it.

 

He went back to his makeshift station, clutching his coffee cup so tightly he was sure the paper would crumble. He didn't even like coffee. Why did he come here? Because that's what normal people do. Normal people drink coffee and they go for walks in the park and they study for their exams. Normal people don't get involved with serial killers.

 

He blew on the coffee in his hand then took a sip, cringing at the bitter taste. How could people drink this stuff? He reached for creamer and sugar, pouring it in until the color was more khaki than black, then tried it again. It was still gross, but manageable. It was easier to swallow than what he had on his plate, at least.

 

He continued to work through math problems until everyone in the small coffee shop seemed to freeze. He looked up to see what customers that were there, along with the waitresses and even the cook, had their eyes on the television in the corner. Words across the bottom announced that Yifan's latest victim - the one found in the gas station - had been identified. Someone - Zitao guess the manager - rushed out of a back office with a remote in her hand, turning on the volume so everyone could hear it.

 

Zitao heard it, but he didn't. He gathered from it was that everyone thought Yifan was a horrible person. I mean, he understood that, but the Yifan plastered on the screen in front of him and the Yifan he knew he had left in the shitty apartment three days prior seemed so different. Yifan was gentle, not a murderer. But the television and the pile of people he had killed said otherwise.

 

Other than that, he learned that the victim was a boy he took biology with. Faintly, he remembered being paired with him for a final last year and the boy animatedly talking about one of his favorite TV shows. He was nice; it was a shame he had his life taken from him when he had so much to live for.

 

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and he jumped. He quickly answered, his nerves shot and he had an anxious, suffocating feeling in his chest and he didn't want to draw attention to himself.

 

"H-Hello?" He answered, swallowing and hunching over his work.

 

"Zitao?" Yifan's voice rang clear and Zitao hated himself for the way his heart sped up.

 

"Yi-Yifan?" He breathed, and he felt his voice shake. He then coughed in case anyone heard him, but all the people were still staring at the television. "Fuck, Yifan, you're - you're on the TV."

 

" _Yeah, I'm on there a lot lately_ ," he said, humor in the tone. Zitao could make out the sound of someone being torn open, the wet, liquid noise of blood seeping onto the floor. A moist cough seemed to come from the victim."I'm fixing things."

 

"Is killing someone fixing things?" Zitao questioned, harsher than he meant to.

 

"It's not like that," he responded, hurt.

 

"Why do you kill, Yifan? Why do you kill all those innocent people? I don't understand." It was growing increasingly difficult to keep his voice level.

 

A heavy sigh reached his ear. Yifan sounded tired, like he was growing bored of hearing the question. Zitao could imagine. How many times _had_ Yifan been asked this question? Did he ever give an answer? With a sinking feeling, he realized that the only people who received an answer were most likely dead. More than most likely. Just dead. Period.

 

"I can't not kill, Zitao," he said slowly. "I don't know. And don't say to just not kill because I've tried. It's a thirst that becomes unbearable if it's not sated. I'll take it out on myself if I don't take it out on others. I don't understand it."

 

Zitao's eyes dropped to the hand in his lap, watching his fingers fold over themselves, unfold, and then fold again.

 

"Then why didn't you kill me?" He breathed, and it seemed that he had asked that question so many times it made his head hurt. If he kept pressing, he felt Yifan would grow tired of him. Or maybe, eventually, just snap and kill him. What was stopping him from doing that? Absolutely nothing. Yifan was his own God, he created his own Heaven.

 

"Because you're the only person that makes me feel something."

 

Zitao felt a lump in his throat, but Yifan kept talking.

 

"I have never been close to anyone. All the years I've lived, I've never felt attached to anyone, ever. Not even my mother. She hired a nanny and the nanny learned from an early time that I didn't rely on people. I think my mother knew that, and that's why she nested more with my younger siblings. Until I saw you. I don't even know your favorite color, or your mom's name, or if you have siblings, but I do know that you are absolutely lovely and I would go to the ends of the Earth if you asked me to."

 

"Maroon," Zitao spoke back.

 

"What?"

 

"My favorite color. It's maroon."

 

"That's nice," Yifan said, and Zitao could tell he was smiling. Then he spoke more slowly, "Why haven't you come back to see me?"

 

Zitao felt his stomach seize up.

 

"It wouldn't be right," he responded.

 

"Why?"

 

"Yifan, you know why." He felt like he was letting down a child, a small younger brother that wanted him around but didn't understand that Zitao couldn't see him as often as he wanted.

 

"But I'm fixing things," he said pathetically. It sounded like he was somewhere between rage and sobbing. "I'm fixing things for you. For us."

 

"But it's like you said, isn't it? You're not God, Yifan. You can't fix something like this." He kept his voice soft, trying to soothe the older.

 

"You're wrong." The tone was steel and it made Zitao cringe. "I'll prove it."

 

The line went dead.

 

 

 

Classes began again the next morning, and both of Zitao's lectures - a physics and a literature - took place in the early part of the day. He couldn't focus on them. Besides, he was ahead of schedule with his lessons, thanks to his small session at the coffee house down the road. Now that his life was tied with Yifan's everything else seemed small and unimportant. Was physics going to help him figure out his problems? How about his third reading of _The_ _Catcher in the Rye_? No? Then fuck it.

 

All day, Zitao waited for a murder to appear on the news. He knew it would be announced to the class. The second the police detected a pattern in the homicides and put together that this was a serial killer and not separate cases, each time a new body was found that was Yifan's, someone would come running into the room to tell the students. Then they would all gather around the TV to stay updated, their assignments forgotten.

Yifan had all but admitted to killing someone while talking to him, which made Zitao's stomach go weak, but there was nothing. It started to eat him alive. He knew there was another body, the police just hadn't found it yet.

 

He thought about calling the police to give them a heads up, but be doubted that would go over well. Then they would know he was involved with Yifan in some way. He didn't need that kind of publicity.

 

Yet, it continued to eat him alive. He thought about it constantly. Every other breath he took was heavy with the thought of the new victim. Was he using the victim's body for something? Or was he waiting until the time was right?

 

Zitao texted the boys that he was feeling ill and to stay away. They seemed to respect this, sending texts of well wishes, but no physical visits. Even people in his classes that he was not familiar with asked him if he was feeling alright. He couldn't blame them. He had started to lay his head down and sleep while the lecture was taking place. The professor didn't care, so why should he make an effort for something so insignificant?

 

A few days later, when he had just laid his head down, his phone vibrated in his jeans, notifying him that he had received a text. He slid it from his pocket, reading the message from under the sheltering top of the desk. It wasn't that the teacher was going to say anything, he just didn't want people in his business.

 

From: Yifan

I want to see you

 

Zitao's heart stopped, then immediately started pounding. Yifan hadn't contacted him since the phone call, and Zitao didn't want to admit it, but a dull ache had formed in his chest from the separation. He had been stubbornly ignoring it, telling himself that not seeing Yifan was good.

 

To: Yifan

Why the sudden need? Your hand not satisfying enough?

 

He bit his lip at his sass, hoping he would make Yifan smile. That's all he wanted: to make Yifan smile.

 

From: Yifan

It's nothing compared to your tight ass, little whore.

 

Zitao felt a stirring in his jeans and he turned scarlet, burying his face into his arms. Yifan sent him another text before he could reply.

 

From: Yifan

But I've been thinking, and I want to talk to you. Physically. I also have a gift for you.

 

His head perked up in curiosity. A gift?

 

To: Yifan

You can come over tonight, if you want.

 

His heart thumped in his chest nervously when he received the response from Yifan, saying, "Of course. What's your address?" He sent it to him and then the day seemed to take ages to get through. His teachers seemed to ramble on endlessly and it irritated him. Of course, he knew that the courses he was taking were vital for his degree, but he couldn't care at the moment. Nothing else mattered except how it was only a matter of hours until Yifan would be with him again. He could practically hear his heartbeat in his hears when the final bell went off. He sped to his apartment - which, granted, was only a few blocks, so it wasn't like he was going to hurt anyone - and then proceeded to try and make his place as clean as possible. He knew that his actual apartment was nothing compared to the place he had been staying in Qingdao, but he didn't want Yifan to think it was shabby.

 

 _He's not going to think it's shabby, you moron,_ his subconscious told him. _He's got no room to talk, anyway._

 

Zitao pushed down the rude comment, going to shower. He took extra care to make sure he was clean, that his hair was silky, that his skin smelt nice. He liked it when Yifan gave him approval of such things, so he aimed to get complimented. Then he pulled on his best-fitting jeans and a navy sweater. He let his hair air-dry, knowing that if he messed with it that it would take away all of the softness and he wanted Yifan's hands to be in his hair as much as possible. As he brushed his teeth, he tried to avoid looking at himself in the mirror.

 

 _Look at yourself,_ he thought. _Fucking look. You're getting prettied up for a serial killer, you absolute bastard. You're his whore now._

 

 

Zitao didn't know why he was rushing so much; by the time he had finished getting dressed, it was only five o'clock. Though this was an impressive time for him, as his classes let out at four that day, it was a bit pointless. He didn't even know when Yifan would be there. Would he be hungry? Should he make dinner for them?

 

He grabbed his phone, dialing Yifan's number.

 

" _Hello_?"

 

"Yifan, hey." He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. He suddenly became shy, his throat becoming dry. He pinched at the bridge of his nose, thinking of how silly he sounded. "I, uh, I was just wondering if you wanted me to make dinner or something."

 

Yifan gave a little chuckle through the other end of the phone, seeming amused at Zitao's uncertainty. " _That would be lovely, baby._ "

 

"O-Okay," Zitao blushed at the term of endearment, fumbling with the seam of his sweater. "Is spaghetti okay? I think I have everything here for it." He started to rummage in his cabinets, holding the phone with the side of his face and his shoulder.

 

" _Spaghetti would be perfect,_ " Yifan said. " _I'll probably be there around six-thirty._ "

 

"Okay," Zitao responded, casting a look at the clock as he started boiling water. It was only a quarter after five. "I'll see you then."

 

" _Alright_ ," he said, and then they hung up.

 

Zitao had never been much of a cook, but Yifan was bringing out his inner housewife, what with the cleaning up and the meal-making. He was careful with the noodles, not wanting them to be too limp or crunchy, and then he made sure that there was the perfect amount of sauce. He added some garlic and vegetable seasoning to put more flavor in it. He was just finishing it up when there was a knock on his door. He checked the time: it was only just now six, so it couldn't be Yifan. Then who...?

 

He looked out of the peephole to see Minseok, carrying what seemed to be balloons and a bottle of NyQuil.

 

" _Fuck_ ," he muttered, but he opened the door anyway.

 

"Surprise!" He said, smiling widely and holding out the balloons. They all had some sort of 'Get Well' theme on them.

 

"Minseok, hi," he swallowed, feeling guilt sink in his stomach. "Wow." He reached out and grasped the balloons.

 

Minseok blinked, taking him in. "You're, uh, looking well. From your text, I thought you were on the edge of death, but one of the people at the university said they had seen you so I thought I would come by and give you a morale boost, but it doesn't look like you need it."

 

"Yeah, I'm feeling better." Zitao shuffled his feet.

 

"I brought this, too," he said, holding out the bottle of cold medicine. "It's the non-drowsy kind, so you'll be able to take it before college in the mornings."

 

"Thanks, Minseok," Zitao spoke, smiling half-heartedly and taking the medicine from him as well.

 

He seemed to just now noticed the enticing aroma of the Italian dinner Zitao had prepared.

 

"Wow, something smells good," he commented, peeking around Zitao's taller frame to look inside the apartment some.

 

"Yeah, I was just about to have dinner," he said awkwardly, and, against his better judgment, he moved over to let Minseok step inside. His mind was screaming at him to shoo Minseok away as soon as possible, and he wanted to, but what could he do? The guy had brought him balloons and medicine. He couldn't brush him off like that.

 

Minseok went over to the stove, lifting the top off of the pot to look inside. He raised an eyebrow and looked at Zitao as he put away the bottle of cold medicine and tied the balloons down near the door. "Oh really? This looks like a lot of food for one person."

 

"Oh - uh - I'm actually having a friend over. One of my childhood friends from Qingdao. He's coming to have dinner with me and he's staying here for a while." Zitao said rapidly. The lies spilt from his lips smoother than he felt comfortable with.

 

Minseok, pleased with the answer, put the top of the pot back down and nodded. "Alright." He gave Zitao a reassuring smile. "I just thought I'd stop by and see how you were doing, but I'll go since you're going to have company over. I'll see you around."

 

He hugged Zitao, patting him on the back, and then left.

 

Zitao's heart was hammering in his chest. He couldn't believe how close that had been. He checked the clock, nervously noting that it was now ten minutes after six. What would have happened if Minseok had stayed longer and wanted to meet his friend? He shivered. He distracted himself by putting out the silverware and the nicest china he owned, wanting to impress Yifan somehow, even though he already knew that his own apartment could not even try to stand up to the place he had stayed in Qingdao.

 

Sharply at six-thirty, there was a knock at the door and Zitao felt his calmed heart rate go through the roof. He attempted to fix his hair and straighten his sweater on the short trek to the door, knowing it would be no good. Why was he so nervous? It wasn't as if Yifan hadn't seen him before.

 

 _Naked at that_ , his inner self quipped at him.

 

He pulled open the door and Yifan's devilishly handsome face was obstructed by a huge box. Was this the gift he was talking about? It must've weighed a ton, because the second Yifan set it down in the middle of Zitao's small living room, he was slightly out of breath. He sat down on the box, holding out his arms in a grand gesture.

 

" _Ta-da_!" He said, laughing.

 

"Is that my gift?" Zitao asked, walking closer to it and and kneeling down beside it.

 

"Sure is," he responded. Yifan stood and knelt beside him as he examined the large object, prodding at it, seeing if it would give.

 

It was made out of what seemed to be some kind of heavy-duty plastic. It was a dark navy so he couldn't see anything that was inside of it, not even a shadow or anything. The curiosity was eating him alive. He pushed his fingers under the top of it and went to heave it off, but Yifan popped his hand. Zitao whined, giving him the best pleading look he had.

 

"Not until later," Yifan said. "Now, come here. I've missed you."

 

Yifan tiled Zitao's chin upwards and kissed him, the motion of their lips staying delicate in the short display of affection. Zitao felt his face flush when Yifan sighed in approval and began to slide his nose up his neck and into the curve of his jaw. He planted his lips in a pattern on the way back down it. Zitao leaned into the touch, feeling his body bloom in adoration at the show of fondness.

 

"Did you miss me as well, baby?" Yifan asked softly, his tongue coming from between his sinfully sculpted lips to lick up to the base of Zitao's ear. He bit on the small earlobe, making Zitao make a small noise.

 

"Yes," Zitao admitted, finding himself at the complete mercy of this god-like man. "So much."

 

Yifan chuckled darkly before kissing him again, his skillful tongue sweeping inside his mouth to get his taste. Then he pulled away, leaving Zitao somewhat red-faced and panting; Yifan's body was no longer there to steady him so he fell onto all-fours. He wiped at his mouth and stood, swallowing.

 

"Would you like dinner?" He asked awkwardly. Yifan watched him as he tried to straighten himself.

 

"Yes, please."

 

He made his way into the kitchen, Yifan following close behind him. Yifan sat down at one of the places set, observing the apartment as Zitao stirred the spaghetti in an attempt to keep it from getting cold. He noticed the family pictures on the wall.

 

"I like your apartment," he said. He spotted a specific picture of Zitao with his mother, surrounded by other small children. "Is that your mom?"

 

Zitao looked up. "Yeah, that's her." He smiled.

 

"Are those your brothers and sisters?"

 

"God, no. I'm an only child. Those are my cousins."

 

"Where's your dad?" Yifan asked, hoping it wasn't a sensitive topic.

 

"He was sick that day. We had a family reunion and he came down with a nasty virus the day before. Mom didn't want him around all the small kids with something that vicious, so she told him to stay in bed."

 

Zitao took the plate in front of Yifan and brought it over to the stove, filling it with food before bringing it back to him and doing the same to his own. He sat across from him and swallowed nervously.

 

"It smells wonderful," Yifan complimented.

 

"Thank you. I'm not much of a cook, but it's the thought that counts, right?" Zitao blushed.

 

During the meal, Yifan got him talking about his childhood, offering witty comments that made Zitao giggle like a small child. He seemed to suck away all the nervousness he felt, making him absolutely comfortable with his presence. It made Zitao breathless how he could do that. He helped Zitao wash the dishes as well, splashing him with the soapy water and leaving both of them with stitches in their sides from laughing so hard. After everything was cleaned up, Zitao looked up at him with child-like excitement in his eyes, an unspoken question fluttering around in them.

 

Yifan felt himself melt, sighing. "Go ahead."

 

Zitao tore off through the kitchen, sinking to his knees in front of his gift. He had been having a wonderful time with Yifan, but the present had been in the back of his mind since it had arrived. He lifted off the top, first becoming aware of the strong scent that burned his nose. It was sharp, like ammonia, but it was distinctly alcohol. His eyes watered and he coughed. He peered inside to see opaque plastic bags - surprisingly similar to body bags, but in a smaller format - and looked up at Yifan questioningly. His face was unreadable.

 

He reached inside, unzipping one of the bags and turning it over onto the floor.

 

"Yifan," he spoke slowly. He swallowed. "What the fuck kind of sick joke is this?"

 

A cold, but very human, hand had come out of the bag and was now lying palm-up on Zitao's carpet. He could see the muscle tissue had been ripped in order to separate it from the body.

 

"Trust me," Yifan said. "This is something that needed to happen. Just keep going."

 

With shaking hands, Zitao looked through the bags until he came across the one that he was almost certain held the head. He didn't want to open the other bags one-by-one to find out who this body belonged to. He just wanted it to be over with as soon as possible. He unzipped it, holding it in his hands by the plastic wrappings. A beautiful face stared at him, one he was too familiar with. Lush lips, a small nose, and he knew that if the boy's eyes opened that they would be a lovely, sparkly brown.

 

He dropped the head, pushing himself away from the package as quickly as possible. He was shaking so hard that he didn't trust himself to speak.

 

"Oh my god," he finally said. His voice was raw and horrified. "Oh my god."

 

"I fixed it," Yifan said. "I fixed things for you. Now you don't have to feel guilty any more. Everything's better now."

 

Yifan came behind Zitao and lifted him into a standing position, hugging him from behind. He kissed up the smaller boy's neck, unbothered. He noticed how Zitao wasn't moving into the affection like he had before dinner. "Do you not like it?"

 

"He was my friend." He felt sick. He felt his dinner stirring in his stomach uncomfortably.

 

"He wasn't going to let you be happy. He was going to send me to jail." Yifan hissed the words in Zitao's ear. "You gave him my address and he came to see me. I didn't want to talk to him, so he threatened to call the police. He was going to tear us apart. I can't have that happening - I just found you."

 

Zitao didn't say anything, he just resigned himself to letting Yifan hold him. His eyes stared into nothing on the wall.

 

 

 

Zitao sat up in bed, removing Yifan's arm from around him. He padded into the living room and sat beside the box. He had gotten Yifan to put back the parts he had taken out, but now he reached back in, grasping a cold hand firmly in his own. He leaned against the box, the cold plastic and the smell of alcohol making him even more numb than he already was.

 

"I'm sorry, Lu," he whispered.

 

He closed his eyes tightly, wishing Luhan's hand would squeeze back.


	3. 3/3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This could be seen as non-con, so if that makes you uneasy, please proceed with caution!

__

Zitao didn't know why he had let Yifan stay; he didn't want him to, but he was far too preoccupied trying to get his dinner to stay down than to get him to leave. He knew he should have turned on him, yelling and screaming. That's the reaction he wanted to give. Instead, he didn't do anything. He just let it happen. So when Yifan left early the next morning before many people were awake with his box of horror, he felt himself release a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

How long had Luhan been like that? How many days had it been since Zitao had contacted him? What about the others? They soon would be concerned. Would Yifan let the body surface? Or was he going to keep it out of public eye? Was he smart enough to do that? _Of course he's smart enough to do that, he hasn't been caught yet, has he?_

He now felt extremely nervous. _There had been a body in his apartment._ What if one of his friends came over? Would they be able to tell?

He began to clean the spot where the box had been. There was no blood, no skin that had flaked off, nothing, but he could still smell the sickening burn of alcohol every time he got near it. He scrubbed until his hands turned raw and they ached with the strength of the cleaner. Maybe there was no smell of alcohol left. Was he imagining things? He took a shower, trying to ignore how much the water burned his hands. He needed to be clean.

He wiped the fog from his mirror and saw Luhan standing behind him. He looked exactly like he did when Zitao saw him last, the morning they went and had breakfast. Zitao trembled, feeling the tears build up in his eyes. He held both sides of his head with his split, chapped hands.

"I'm so sorry," he told him.

Luhan only blinked back at him, the impassive expression on his face not changing.

"Lu, what do I do?" He asked. His voice cracked on his name. How could he have let this happen to Luhan?

The boy in the mirror looked down and shook his head, seeming like he almost pitied Zitao. He reached out and touched Zitao's shoulder, squeezing in a reassuring way. Zitao lifted his hand to cover his friend's but he didn't feel anything. He looked behind him, feeling alone in the empty bathroom, and then looked back in the mirror. He only saw the person he blamed the most: himself.

If only he hadn't given Luhan Yifan's address, this wouldn't have happened. _No_ , if only Zitao had called the police immediately after Yifan let him live the first night, this wouldn't have happened. He'd had multiple opportunities to call the cops - the prime one being when the hermit gave him Yifan's address. Why didn't he turn him in? Why did he have to learn things the hard way? He couldn't recall his parents instructing him not to do so, but even if they had, would he still be in the same situation?

He bent over the sink and became sick.

Yifan called him that night. Zitao just watched the phone ring. He saw Yifan's smiling face in his contact picture - a photo Yifan had taken himself the night Zitao went and visited him while he slept - and then watched it fade. The VoiceMail notification appeared a few seconds later. Only then did Zitao move from his position on the couch and carefully reach for his phone. He typed in his PIN and waited.

_"Zitao-o! Why didn't you answer? It's not even late, you lightweight. I know you stay up longer than this. I was just calling to tell you hey and see how you are. I know I kind of messed up trying to fix everything, but if you think about it, I did fix things. You don't have to worry about him being upset with you anymore. I did this for us, baby. I did this because you mean so much to me and I can't bear to see you in any pain. I guess I kind of botched that up, though, didn't I? Call me. Please. I miss you."_

Zitao didn't call him back.

 

It didn't take long for people to notice Luhan's absence. Before long, he had been missing a week, and posters were all over town, his naive face plastered all over the evening news. Everyone knew subconsciously what had happened to him, but no one seemed to want to say. There had yet to be a body found, and until one was, everyone clung to the hope that maybe he had gotten lost. But how often does someone get lost in their own hometown?

Zitao didn't watch the news anymore specifically for the reason that he couldn't bear to see Luhan's face anymore. Did they have to use the Yixing had taken on his twenty-fourth birthday? He was wearing a party hat, sitting in front of his cake. He was smiling so hard it seemed that his face would split in two, but it was unmistakably Luhan. 

How long was Yifan going to keep everyone on edge? When was he going to let the body be found? He was being cruel. It pissed Zitao off, honestly. His friends cared about the well-being of Luhan - _he_ cared about the well-being of Luhan. They deserved peace as opposed to asking around on street corners day after day with signs asking, "Have you seen this man?" It wasn't fair.

He reached for his phone, noting that Yifan had called twice today already. There were no VoiceMails this time, but he did have texts. Not that he bothered to read any of them. They all said the same thing.

From: Yifan

Do you want to come over later? I can make it up to you.

 

From: Yifan

Zitao, when are you going to start talking to me again? I miss you.

 

From: Yifan

Baby, please quit ignoring me like this. I can't take it anymore. 

He knew Yifan would answer if he called. So that's what he did.

" _Zitao?_ " Yifan's voice was somewhat shaky, sounding somewhere between disbelieving and relieved.

"I want you to let them find his body. My friends deserve peace," he said coldly.

" _Of course, anything,_ " the other male replied. " _Anything you want._ "

"This doesn't change anything," Zitao spat into the receiver, ending the call before Yifan could manage a reply.

 

True to his word, Luhan's body was found in the early hours of the next day, around eight AM. He was in the middle of a Sociology lecture when it happened: a student stormed into the classroom with the news and the professor said no more, turning on the TV in the corner of the room and flipping it to the news channel. The older lady that had stumbled across it had been out for a morning walk with her dog when she noticed something floating in the river she passed by in her morning trek. Upon further investigation, she discovered it was a human hand, and immediately called the police. The body parts were spread across a small playground and into the said river nearby. The police gathered all body parts and managed to place them together in the morgue, but, of course, it was clear that the frigid face was Luhan's. Everyone suspected Yifan, even though all organs seemed to be intact.

The classmates all cast side glances at Zitao. They all knew that Luhan had been his friend and seemed to be waiting for him to burst into tears. However, he just kept his face on the screen ahead of him and listened as the anchor woman's voice looped into a never ending cycle of events. Her voice was soothing, but the things she kept repeating were anything but. As soon as his class was released, he left the university, ignoring the fact that he had two more classes to sit through today.

He was tired of feeling like a pawn in Yifan's game, even though he knew that Yifan seemed to bend to his every whim. It was time for all of this to end.

He walked to a street corner, taking out his phone and squinting his eyes to see the screen in the bleary light of the day. He quickly punched in the anonymous tip line number and waited as it rang. An automated voice answered.

" _Hello. You have reached the Anonymous Tip Line for the Hong Kong Police Department. If you have information that could be vital to a current investigation, please stay on the line and recite your knowledge after the beep. If not, please hang up. Thank you, and have a nice day._ "

The beep sounded and Zitao took a deep breath.

"Wu Yifan can be found in apartment four in the complex near Jei's Bar and Club."

 

After that, everything seemed to become a waiting game. Zitao seemed to always be on edge. Nearly two days had passed and he refused to leave his apartment except for his classes. He had missed calls from his friends, all about Luhan's funeral, and one from his mother, who he was sure had heard about the death by now. He felt like Yifan knew he had betrayed him, but there had yet to be anything on the news about it. It was as if he had never called the tip line in the first place. Maybe he did something wrong. Was he supposed to leave more information? Were the cops just skeptical of something so blatant?

Part of him was relieved at the thought Yifan had yet to be caught. Maybe he should warn him that someone tips off the police and give him time to move...but then he reminded himself that he needed Yifan to go to prison. Zitao might have stabbed him in the back, but it was with the knife Yifan had left in his when he murdered Luhan in cold blood. _He had no right to do that_.

He picked up his phone, dialing, and listened to the ringing. It didn't take long before Minseok picked up.

" _Hello?_ "

"Hey," Zitao said, smiling a little. He leaned against the wall behind him before sliding down it and pulling his knees to his chest.

" _Zitao? Are you alright? We've been trying to reach you, but -_ "

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. I-I just needed some time. I didn't really know how to start talking to you guys again after -"

He stopped. He meant after he saw Luhan's body in Yifan's box of horrors, but he couldn't bring himself to say it.

" _It's okay. We understand. We're having L - his funeral this Saturday. His aunts are coming down to help pay for it. We wanted to know if you were going to come._ " Minseok sounded nervous. His voice was shaking, and Zitao felt a sliver of curiosity run through him. What did it feel like to have a friend ripped from you like Luhan had been? What did it feel like to be completely innocent in this situation, and to have no idea why Yifan had chose Luhan? What did it feel like to be a normal person?

"Oh, of-of course I'm going to be there, Minseok. You know I wouldn't miss that. I just - I mean - it's hard, isn't it? Living like this." Zitao sighed heavily. He knew he had no right to be feeling a loss of one of his closest friends, because it was his fault, after all, but he still did. He still missed Luhan dearly, and it felt like a throbbing pain in his chest with a pulse. It was as if he had a second heart in the middle of his chest, but instead of pumping blood, it pumped the acute sensation of feeling guiltily alone. What would it take to make that go away?

" _But it's how it is now, Zitao. We have to accept the fact that sometimes things happen that don't make sense and honest-to-God good people are taken from us, but that doesn't mean we have to like it. Actually, if you liked it, I'd be a bit worried,_ " Minseok said, making a poor attempt at a joke, and a hollow laugh sounded from the other end of the receiver.

Zitao blinked, and then he chuckled, too.

A few hours later, as Zitao was pouring over his laptop in a frenzy in order to finish his Sociology work, the waiting game seemed to come to an end. It was a few minutes after one in the morning, and the TV on in front of him seemed to suddenly go ablaze with color. He reached over for his remote and unmuted it to listen to the anchorman's narration.

" _...as police followed up a tip from our anonymous tip line. Not long after midnight, they kicked down the door of the apartment of notorious serial killer Wu Yifan, where they found him and managed to cuff him. However, this proved to be a mistake. Wu strangled an officer with the cuffs before killing the other three of the team. He fled the scene and citizens are advised to not to approach him. If you have seen him, please call..._ "

Photos of Yifan's apartment flashed up on the screen, where white chalk outlines could be seen on the floor.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck,_  Zitao thought. If Yifan had gotten away, he was free with the knowledge that someone had ratted him out. Who else knew his location other than himself?

Was Yifan going to come for Zitao?

_He wouldn't hurt me_ , Zitao reassured himself.  _I know him better than that. If he was going to hurt me, he would have done it long ago. He's had multiple chances to do so. He is not going to hurt me._ Then he shuddered.  _But that was before I gave away his location._

 

Two days later, Zitao went to Luhan's funeral. He put on a suit and tie, actually tried to make himself look decent, and went to the church. A lot more people were there that he expected, but that always happens when someone dies young. He recognized some of the people from his college, a few friends he had seen Luhan with, and his aunts, who enveloped Zitao in teary hugs. He wasn't sure why they had Luhan's funeral in a church, or cathedral, rather. Luhan wasn't religious, but his family was Roman Catholic, so he supposed it should have been obvious that there would be a Roman Catholic funeral.

He stood beside Yixing, Jongin, and Minseok, who all gave him squeezes on the shoulder, and when the service was over, they grabbed his coffin and carried it to the cemetery just outside, where a plot was already dug up. Luhan was to be buried beside his parents, who, unlike their son, had a private funeral that was for family only. Zitao peeped at Luhan's aunts and tried to understand how it would feel to take two trips to Hong Kong in a month, both for family deaths. They must absolutely loathe Wu Yifan at this point. But then again, only a handful of people didn't.

Luhan's aunts were allowed to put dirt on the coffin first, and then slowly, bit by bit, people started to leave, leaving behind their condolences and warm wishes for the family and friends. Zitao was starting to feel sick, and he went inside to the bathroom, telling his friends that he would be back shortly. They took in his pale face and clammy appearance and nodded.

In the bathroom, he took off his suit jacket, loosening his tie and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he ran some cold water. He splashed his face, feeling like he was suffocating. His mouth was dry, and it felt odd to have water on is face while his lips were the very physical form of the Sahara. He reached for the towels used for drying that were on the counter, wiping his face and swallowing.

"Are you alright?" A male voice asked him, coming from one of the stalls. The sound of a toilet flushing followed, then the stall opened, and footsteps sounded to the spot near Zitao.

Zitao kinda shrugged, keeping his eyes pointedly focused on his shoes as the figure began to wash his hands.

"I didn't know how you would be holding up, considering you're one of Luhan's friends and all."

Zitao nodded, a faint smile coming to his lips as he looked up at the man. "Yeah, I - _No_."

Zitao staggered back towards the bathroom door, wanting to reach for the handle but his hands were shaking so much he could hardly keep himself upright against the wooden panel. Yifan gave him a slightly mocking smile, drying his hands as well.

"Leave," Zitao choked out. "You don't belong here. I'm trying to mourn my friend - my friend that _you fucking murdered,_ if you've forgotten - so I want you to leave. None of us want you here, Yifan."

Yifan made a sour face. "You don't appreciate what I went through to be here? Don't you understand how much I'm risking just to see you right now, baby? You kind of drove me to it, honestly. Why can't you just answer your phone?" He took a breath and shook his head like he was clearing his thoughts. "That's besides the point. If anything, you should be apologizing to me. It wasn't very nice of you to give away my position to the police like that." He took a few steps toward Zitao, cradling the younger boy's face in his hands. "It's okay, though. I forgive you. It would take a little bit more than that to make me upset with you." 

Zitao hated the way his skin practically leapt up to meet Yifan's hands, the way they eased away all his tension. He still pulled back a bit though, pushing against Yifan's chest and turning his face to the side. Yifan didn't let that deter him; he attached his lips to the bottom of Zitao's jaw, kissing it and running his tongue along the strong bone.

"I've been in such agony without you talking to me, darling. It hurts me so much when I feel like you're upset with me. Especially since I know it's just an act. I know you love the way I make you feel, Zitao. Why can't you just let this happen?" Yifan asked softly, his breath ticking Zitao's ear. The black-haired boy's knees became weak and he let out a soft sound of disgruntlement, like a small child that wasn't getting his way.

"Look at me," Yifan said.

Zitao shook his head.

"Don't make me punish you," he threatened, his voice becoming intoxicatingly low. "Remember how I punished you the night I found you? You were sore for days afterward. Do you want me to treat you like that again, my little whore?"

Thoughts invaded Zitao's mind, images flashing in his head of Yifan's thick cock stretching Zitao to his limit, Zitao absolutely writing on the floor in such pleasure and pain that it made him hard just from the memory of it. Yifan was so fucking good at turning his body into pliant clay. His breathing hitched and he made another sound, this one closer to a whine.

"So I'll tell you again," Yifan said. " _Look_. _At. Me_."

Zitao moved his head to stare Yifan in the face, their eyes meeting and Zitao immediately submitting in his heated gaze. Zitao's eyes turned downcast and Yifan lifted his finger to trace the boy's pouting lips, admiring how beautiful the creature in front of him truly was. Zitao took the opportunity of having his finger so close to his mouth to suck on it, grasping his forearm in his hands, batting his eyelashes in feigned innocence as his lips formed a suction around the digit, slicking it up to the first knuckle on Yifan's large, elegant hands.

Yifan slowly retracted his finger, watching as saliva clung to it from Zitao's full lips, using his other hand to slide behind Zitao and lock the bathroom door as he closed the distance between their lips. The kiss started slow, and Zitao was internally kicking himself for it because he had started out so well with resisting Yifan, but the soft sighs of actual physical contact with the other soon turned into gnashing teeth and lips that would bruise. Zitao was steadily turning into a whining mess, his lips becoming swollen and red, and Yifan rejoiced in how the other reacted to him. He could feel Zitao's member growing, placing a firm hand over it to coax it to its optimal size.

"Y-Yifan, stop," Zitao said breathlessly, but despite the words coming from his mouth, his hips were somewhat raising into Yifan's palm, desperate for friction.

"You don't want me to stop, though, do you?" Yifan asked, his eyes tinged with dominion. He pressed his hand against Zitao's groin in a rolling manner, making him gasp and tilt his head back. "God, look at you," he continued to taunt, sliding his other hand down Zitao's thigh and around to his round ass, grasping it firmly in his hand. His mouth went back to his neck, making trails of saliva from his tongue.

Zitao wanted Yifan to bite him so badly - he was practically yearning for the sensation of the male's perfectly straight teeth to leave indentations in his soft flesh. He wanted there to be dark purple crescent moons all over his body, like Yifan had left on him the day he found him. He subconsciously pushed himself into Yifan's lips, making a soft submissive noise that sent blood rushing to Yifan's member.

Yifan's teeth finally sank into the flesh over and over again, Zitao steadily grinding his hips into Yifan's palm. He was gasping and pulling at Yifan like a deprived slut, his fingers in his honey hair, grasping at the silky strands and urging him on in his trek down Zitao's neck. Yifan started to unbutton Zitao's shirt, revealing the expanse of smooth chest to him. He withdrew his hand from between Zitao's legs, untying the black tie around Zitao's neck and grabbing his wrists. He pulled him to the sink.

"Bend," he commanded from behind him.

"No," Zitao spat, shaking his head and trying to muster up a last-attempt at baying him. " _S-Stop._ "

Yifan promptly grabbing the back of Zitao's head by his hair and forced his face downward, his body bending awkwardly at the waist. He tied Zitao's wrists tightly with the soft ribbon he had removed from him, tying them to the faucet. Zitao issued an annoyed sigh, trying to pull from the restraints, but Yifan grasped his hips in his hands and pushed his front into him, making Zitao feel every inch of his hard cock. The trousers Yifan was wearing left nothing to the imagination.

"Now, now, baby, you don't mean that," Yifan said, hearing Zitao make a noise of surprise. He was resisting the urge to grind back into Yifan, he shouldn't lose control of himself like that, but _fuck_ did he want to. Then, just like that, the pressure against Zitao's ass was gone. Since he had rested his head against his tied up hands, he turned it to the side to try and figure out what was going on. Why did Yifan stop? He didn't want him to stop.

Yifan met his eyes, taking in the glazed look in them and the newly red mark formed on his lip from him biting it to not make any kind of sound that would please Yifan. He was so disobedient. Yifan reached around Zitao's waist, unbuckling his bottoms and pulling them down. Zitao's thighs made him distracted and he let his mouth brush against them, softly sucking on the inner part close to his ass. He heard Zitao's breath hitch in his throat.

He pulled Zitao's boxers down to the floor as well, leaving his tight bottom exposed. Yifan bit the soft skin of it, making sure to leave red marks and making Zitao jump forward when he felt the initial contact of teeth upon it. Then Yifan lifted his hand, smacking Zitao's ass and causing Zitao to almost moan. He raised his hand again, swatting the other cheek, and the strangled cry came again. He watched the reflection of Zitao in the mirror, the twin arching its back and pushing its backside toward Yifan even more.

Yifan knelt to his knees, sliding his tongue around the top of Zitao's milky thighs near the apex of his ass before he pulled the two fleshly spheres apart. He swirled his tongue around Zitao's tight entrance. The warmth of Yifan's mouth made him lurch forward, a full-blown " _fuck_ " escaping his previously locked lips. Yifan repeated the action, barely letting the tip of his tongue breach Zitao's hole.

"P- _Please_ ," Zitao whined. "Fuck, _please_!"

Yifan allowed his tongue to exploit Zitao's body, to slowly slide in, scarcely meet his prostate, then retreat. He got closer and more rough to Zitao's sensitive area every time, making higher pitched moans come from his mouth each time. He ran his tongue over the egg-shaped spot, applying light then extremely hard pressure, causing Zitao's heartbeat to be felt even in his aching dick. He wished Yifan would quit teasing him and either tongue-fuck him to completion or do it properly. He was beyond caring how he got off at this point.

Yifan kept at it, the pace of his tongue making Zitao turn hot and messy, precum leaking all over his exposed cock. His legs spread a bit, trying to get Yifan to go as deep as his tongue could permit. He wanted Yifan to touch him, but he knew he wouldn't. He never touched Zitao when he was working on him. He always made him cum untouched. He felt that attention to his shaft would be too much for the time being anyway; his head might explode - but not the one on his shoulders.

With a final abusing blow to Zitao's prostate, Yifan stopped, standing and beginning to unbuckle his own trousers. Zitao was wrecked; he had started to feel a nice orgasm build up in his stomach, but of course Yifan wouldn't let him cum this easily. He was gasping, his face displaying a look of someone zoned-out. He was so far gone in his own lust. Yifan released his cock from the confining space of his boxers as it had been growing tighter and tighter with each breathless moan Zitao had given while he rimmed him, wrapping his hand around it to spread the generous amount of precum that had oozed out. He placed the swollen head at Zitao's entrance, pushing in until only the crown of it had been suffocated by Zitao's incredibly tight heat.

"Fuck yourself on me," he instructed. "I want to watch you take all of my cock."

Zitao complied, pushing his ass against Yifan until slowly, inch by inch, he was fully rooted in Zitao. He then started to move his body against Yifan's, using the countertop as leverage as best he could with tied hands, desperate to find some sort of release. Yifan's dick was rubbing against his already-sensitive prostate, making him weak in the knees from the feeling, but he didn't want to disappoint Yifan, so he kept going, rutting himself against the hard piece of flesh fully inside of him.

He felt so filthy fucking himself on Yifan's cock in a bathroom. Is this what it had come to? Was he now so desperate for Yifan in every way that he would take him however he could? He couldn't think about these things while Yifan was inside of him - Yifan was too good of a fuck for moments wasted not thinking about how much he was stretching Zitao wide open, making a slowly throbbing pleasure-pain bud in his rear that seemed to only be intensified every time Yifan even got near his prostate.

Zitao sped up, trying to get himself off as soon as possible, and he caught a look of himself in the mirror in front of him. His expression was nothing more than that of a cheap whore, looking extremely pleased to be on Yifan's cock, knowing that was exactly where he belonged. He was Yifan's property, and whatever Yifan wanted, he got.

A hand wrapped around Zitao's cock and his abdomen tightened as Yifan began to stroke the member in time with Zitao's thrusts.

"Good boy," Yifan praised, his thumb grazing over Zitao's cockhead. Yifan started to fuck into him, taking over the movements. "You're always such a good boy for me, aren't you, my little whore?"

Zitao nodded immediately, the edges of his vision going fuzzy as a new force began hitting him from behind. His prostate was under full attack, making hot, angry, wrathful waves of pleasure pulse through Zitao's veins. He could feel every detail of Yifan's prick as he pulled out and began again, his tight hole swallowing the organ over and over again. Surely Zitao had never truly been fucked until now, being impaled by Yifan's lavishly indulgent shaft.

"Tell me what you are," Yifan commanded.

"W-Whore," Zitao managed, speech being something he wasn't very skilled with while he was being brutally fucked. He felt his release gurgling up in his gut. " _Ngh_ \- S-So _close_."

"Are you going to cum all over my hand?" Yifan taunted. "Beg to cum."

"P-Please let me cum, Yifan!" Zitao nearly sobbed. His mouth was hung open almost lazily, his eyes clenched shut. He was panting with the effort of keeping his orgasm at bay. "I want to cum s-so badly - please! Fuck, _please_!"

" _Cum,_ " Yifan ordered, his mouth at Zitao's neck, biting into the skin with such a fervor that Zitao could practically feel the blood vessels bursting. He rammed into him as Zitao rode out the feeling, Zitao's heat strangling his dick with each contraction. Semen spurted from Zitao's now-sensitive shaft, all over the bathroom counter and sink, as he moaned and whimpered through the feeling. He was trembling under Yifan now, who, a few thrusts later, emptied himself into Zitao, which made him let out a pleased little mewl as the hot liquid filled him up.

Yifan pulled out, pulling up his trousers and giving Zitao a firm smack on the ass. Zitao already felt the guilt building inside of him, eating at his entrails and making a knot form in his throat. He had just let Yifan fuck him at _Luhan_ 's funeral. Out of all the things he didn't want to do, that had to come out somewhere near the top.

Yifan reached and untied Zitao, attempting to claim his mouth with his own, but Zitao stumbled out of the way.

"No, Yifan, this has got to stop," he stammered, pulling his clothes back on and trying to tie his tie correctly. It was no use, though; it was wrinkled. "You don't understand. I don't want to be with you anymore, Yifan. Do you know what kind of pain you put me through? You killed one of my best friends!"

Yifan seemed unfazed. "No, _you_ don't understand. I made your decision for you since you couldn't make it yourself. I helped you."

" _You fucked me over_!" Zitao yelled, his voice hoarse. Tears burned in his eyes. "How dare you show your face here? I am an emotional wreck because of you, and I came here to mourn, but I can't even have that. I can't have anything, can I? You might as well take everything else, too. Kill the rest of my friends, kill my family, get me kicked out of university, because it seems you don't get it, Yifan. When I called the police, I was hoping they would catch you and put you in prison. That's where you belong."

Yifan walked closer to him, touching Zitao's cheek with his hand, caressing it and making Zitao's heart thump in his chest. His lips brushed against Zitao's and he softly murmured. "You're just upset, kitten. You don't mean that."

Zitao looked away from him, his eyes determinedly set on the door of one of the stalls. His Adam's apple twitched in his throat, his bottom lip trembling. Yifan leaned down and kissed the shaking larynx gently.

"Answer my calls next time, okay?" He asked, almost lovingly. He straightened himself, offered Zitao a scarily calm smile, and left the bathroom.

Zitao felt his knees go weak, sliding down the wall as he began to cry in shame. What was he going to do?

 

Zitao laid in his bathtub, watching the ceiling. The water had gone from steaming hot to lukewarm in the fifteen minutes he had been in it and he knew it would be stone cold when he got out. If he got out. Being in the water helped him think, and he needed as much help with that as he could get at the moment.

At first, Yifan didn't contact him at all. Zitao felt a sense of relief. Maybe he had gotten though to him. Maybe Yifan finally got the picture that Zitao no longer wanted to be with him. That had only lasted three days. On the fourth day, his phone rang. Zitao didn't answer, but the consequence of that made him wish he had.

Zitao hadn't meant it when he told Yifan to kill his other friends. But Yifan must not have ever been good at reading sarcasm because Minseok went missing yesterday. This morning, his body was found with stitches all the way up his chest. Yifan had removed his heart, which was later recovered when Zitao got a package. He knew before he opened it what it was going to be. 

Everything had turned sour. His friends, now in a more timid mood than ever, didn't want to spend time with him. His mother treated him like an injured puppy. Even his lecturers gave him extended deadlines to finish papers and class assignments. He felt like he was being pulled in six different directions, like he was being suffocated and being held under a human-sized magnifying glass at the same time. He didn't want to leave his bed. He wanted to sink slowly into the water until he drowned.

Luhan would know how to make him feel better. Luhan always knew how to make him feel better. Fuck, he missed Luhan.

None of this was fair. There was only two ways out of this, and he held one in his hand. 

He fingered the blade from the box cutter in his right hand absentmindedly as water dripping from the faucet sent ripples across the surface.

If only he had the guts to drag it up his arms.

 

A week later, Zitao called Yifan. It seemed as though he was waiting on Zitao to call, like he knew it was only a matter of time before Zitao caved. But Zitao now knew the other way out and he intended on taking out some evil in the world on his way out, so he told Yifan he was sorry he was acting the way he was.

" _It's okay, baby_ ," Yifan said softly. " _It's okay. You know I'll keep you safe and not let anything happen to you. You just have to believe I'd sacrifice anything for you._ "

"I k-know," Zitao said, choking over his own words. There was a lump in his throat again. "I d-don't know why you're being so forg-giving of this. I nearly g-got you arrested."

" _You were scared and didn't know what you wanted_ ," Yifan told him. " _But now you know what you want_."

"I want you."

" _That sounds so good coming from your mouth, kitten_ ," Yifan praised. " _Say it again_."

"I want you, Yifan. You've always known what's best for me. You would never do anything to intentionally hurt me and I was so ungrateful." Zitao was sniffing, trying to keep his voice audible for Yifan.

" _But now you know_ ," the older said. " _And that makes me so happy, darling, you have no idea_."

"C-Come see me," Zitao begged. "I miss you so much."

" _Of course I'll come see you,_ " Yifan replied sweetly, trying to soothe the boy that had taken his heart. " _I'll be right there, okay_?"

"Okay," Zitao whispered hoarsely.

 

Seeing Yifan was like getting a lungful of fresh air after scuba diving: Zitao could keep breathing with air from the tank but it was so much more potent at the surface. Their lips met and Yifan's hands kept running through Zitao's hair and Zitao felt giddy with the sensation that he was coming home. They fell onto Zitao's bed, tearing at each other's clothes, murmuring how much they meant to each other, making themselves drunk and vulnerable on their own words. Zitao straddled Yifan, taking his cock into him, moving his hips with fluidity, the whole time watching Yifan's eyes as they drank him in with nothing short of splendor. They gasped into each other's mouth, and for once, Zitao wasn't moaning like a bitch in heat; he was too preoccupied with the way Yifan's lips never quit moving on his, never let him feel like he was being under appreciated for a second.

When they finished, Yifan crawled on top of Zitao, placing his head on the center of the smaller boy's chest while Zitao played in his hair. Yifan's hair was so soft, like his lips, which were pressing into his torso over and over again with affectionate kisses before he laid his head on the firm surface of muscle, sighed contentedly.

Zitao reached over to his nightstand, pulling open a drawer and retrieving a pistol. The silencer added almost no weight, making it light in his grasp. He held it an inch away from Yifan's head, fighting the feeling of shakiness in his stomach, but it wasn't working. He could see his hand trembling.

"I love you, Zitao," Yifan mumbled. "Forever."

Zitao pulled the trigger. Blood spattered onto his sheets and his face. He held the cold, metal contraption in both hands, turning it to aim point-blank at the center of his forehead. He needed to do this quickly before he felt Yifan get frigid.

"I love you, too, Yifan."

The gun's muffled shot rang.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmfao do you hate me bc I do. I know this seems like a shit ending but I honestly had planned it out from the beginning to have Tao kill Yifan and then kill himself. I was just having a bit of difficulty connecting it. I hope this was alright. I feel like it was awful, so if it was, I am really sorry because it took so long to get this up and none of my excuses are good enough. But yeah. That's the end. I'm not going to make a sequel to it, really. I could do one from one of the POVs of the friends, but I feel like that would be dragging it out and the fic honestly isn't good enough to have people clinging onto it like that. But that's my opinion. If you guys think differently, or if you have a fic request, please tell me, whether it's in the comments or in my inbox. I really do love it when you guys send me messages, you have no idea.
> 
> ^ the actual original note with the original posting. omg what a babie! lol i say @ myself  
> but if you guys have requests, I would be more than happy to fill them! thank you guys for reading my out-dated disaster!


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